Page 88 of A Touch So Wicked

“Calm down,” Sir Richard said, pacing alongside Damian. “Elissa would be a fool not to marry you.” He glanced about the hall, his gaze skimming over the wedding guests who had gathered to celebrate the ceremony. “The Gordon must have decided not to show up. ’Tis a blessing, if you ask me.”

“The day isn’t over,” Damian said grimly. “Have the guests been disarmed as they entered the hall?”

“Aye, just as you ordered, but none of the villagers carried arms.”

A ripple of excitement caught his attention and his gaze found Elissa, poised uncertainly in the doorway. His breath caught in his throat. Elissa was the picture of fragile vulnerability, but he knew differently. She was strong, stronger than any woman he’d ever known. And so beautiful he couldn’t take his eyes off her. The blue gown was becoming, but paled in comparison to the woman wearing it. Her rich burnished hair flowed beneath her shoulder length veil in rippling waves that reflected the glint of sunlight spilling through the windows.

He grinned at her. Her answering smile was tentative. Then Dermot strode forward, forcing her to follow. Moments later she stood beside him. He took her hand from Dermot’s arm and placed it on his own. Father Hugh cleared his throat.

“Are ye ready, my lord?”

Damian shot a glance at Elissa, one eyebrow raised. Her nearly imperceptible nod was all the encouragement he needed. “Aye, begin the ceremony, Father.”

The hall was fair bursting with clansmen from the village and from miles around. The hall buzzed with excitement as they crowded close, eager to hear the vows spoken between their lass and the Demon Knight. Father Hugh signaled for silence.

An almost eerie hush preceded an unexpected commotion at the front entrance.

“Tavis,” Elissa whispered in a strangled voice that raised the hackles on the back of Damian’s neck.

Jealousy reared up like a ravening beast within Damian. He’d known all along that Gordon would show up, but knowing he was actually here made him even more protective of Elissa. His expression turned grim when he saw the color drain from her face and felt her clutching desperately at his arm.

“He’s come to cause trouble,” Elissa hissed. “I donna want him here.”

Relief surged through Damian at Elissa’s words. She didn’t want Gordon here; she didn’t want him at all. Damian had invited the chieftain as a last ditch effort to promote peace at Misterly, but if he were to be honest, he’d admit to a more selfish reason. He wanted Gordon to know that Elissa belonged to him, Damian, and always would.

“What manner of greeting is this?” Tavis Gordon bellowed angrily. “Yer hospitality is woefully lacking. ’Tis inhospitable to confiscate weapons from invited guests. I am here alone, amid enemies and at yer mercy. Are ye going to take advantage of me?”

A path opened up for the Gordon chieftain. Clad in outlawed tartan, he elbowed his way toward Damian and Elissa. Damian felt Elissa trembling and placed a protective arm around her.

“You’re welcome at Misterly, Gordon, as long as you relinquish your weapons. This is a time of joy, not war.”

Gordon clutched his sword, his face a mask of fury. “Ye stole my bride, now ye want to steal my weapons!”

“Your weapons will be returned when you leave. ’Tis your choice, Gordon. Set your hostilities aside as I intend to do and join the celebration.”

Gordon glowered at Elissa. “Elissa was to be my bride. I still want her, even though ’tis common knowledge she spread her thighs for ye.”

Elissa stifled a cry with the back of her hand. Damian wanted to smash Gordon in the mouth for his insult to Elissa but managed to contain his fury. “Why don’t we ask Elissa which man she prefers?” he suggested, feigning a calm he didn’t feel.

Damian realized he was taking a great risk, but he wanted, nay, needed, to hear Elissa’s answer for his own peace of mind. Not that it would make any difference. Elissa would be his wife whether or not she wanted Gordon.

“Verra well,” Gordon agreed smugly. “Ask the lass who she wants to wed.”

Damian grasped Elissa’s shoulders and turned her toward him. “What do you say, sweeting?”

The silence was nearly unbearable as Elissa stared at him, her eyes wide, her mouth tremulous. He sensed the tension that held the wedding guests in thrall and felt as finely drawn as a bowstring.

“Elissa…”

“Go ahead, lass, donna be afraid,” Gordon prompted.

When her pink tongue darted out nervously to wet her lips, Damian wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her until she gave the answer he sought, but he forced himself to wait.

Elissa opened her mouth to speak; anticipation thickened the air around them.

“’Twas my father’s wish that I wed Tavis Gordon,” Elissa began, causing Damian’s heart to sink, “but ’tis not what I want.” Damian began to breathe again. “Tavis, you’ve proven you’re not the man my father thought, nor the man I hoped you’d be.” She reached for Damian’s hand. “I choose Damian.”

“You’ve made a wise choice, my lady,” Damian whispered on a relieved sigh. He turned back to Gordon. “Give over your weapons if you wish to remain for the ceremony.”